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Tembra un neno no húmido pórtico...
Da fame e do frío
ten o sello o seu rostro de ánxel,
inda hermoso, mais mucho e sin brilo.
Farrapento e descalzo, nas pedras
os probes peíños,
que as xiadas do inverno lañaron,
apousa indeciso;
pois parés que llos cortan coitelos
de aceirados fíos.
Coma can sin palleiro nin dono,
que todos desprezan,
nun curruncho se esconde, tembrando,
da dura escaleira.
E cal lirio se dobra ó secárese,
o inocente a dourada cabesa
tamén dobra, esvaesido ca fame,
e descansa co rostro nas pedras.
E mentras que el dorme,
triste imaxen da dor i a miseria,
van e vén ¡a adoraren o Altisimo!
fariseios, os grandes da terra,
sin que ó ver do inocente a orfandade
se calme dos ricos a sede avarienta.
O meu peito ca angustia se oprime.
¡Señor! ¡Dios do ceo!
¿Por que hai almas tan negras e duras?
¿Por que hai orfos na terra, Dios boeno?
Mais n'en vano sellado está o libro
dos grandes misterios...
Pasa a groria, o poder i a alegría...
Todo pasa na terra. ¡Esperemos!
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A child shivers in the clammy portico...
The seal of hunger and cold
Is written over his angelic face
Still beautiful yet wilted and dun.
In tatters and barefoot
He drops his little feet,
Bitten by the winter's frosts,
Dithering on the stones
As if knives of steely blade
Were slashing them.
Like a dog without a haystack or master,
Despised by everyone,
He hides quivering
In a recess of the stony steps.
And like a lily that droops when it dries,
The innocent boy of golden head
Keels over, faint with hunger,
And rests with his face on the stones.
And while he slumbers,
Doleful image of pain and misery,
Enter and leave —to worship the Most High!—
Pharisees—the grandees of this world—
For whom the sight of the innocent's orphanhood
Slakes not the greed of the wealthy.
Anguish weighs heavy on my bosom.
Lord! God of heaven!
Why are there souls so dark and dour?
Why are there orphans on earth, good God?
But the book of great mysteries
Is sealed not in vain...
Glory, power and glee fade away...
Everything fades away on earth. Let's wait!
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